Page 12 of A Tinsel Tale

He arches a brow. “Oh? Sounds interesting.”

“I pretended not to see them. A couple of your former colleagues along with Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Barber—oh, and Betty that owns Posies in town, and the pharmacist, I think. I’m sure the fact that I was all alone with Jamie Barrington will have their tongues wagging.”

He sits down next to me with his own steaming mug. “I’m listening...”

I snort with laughter. “You’re just as bad as they are.”

“Moi?” he says innocently.

I decide to give him a break and toss him a crumb. “Mrs. Barrington was there and waiting on customers when I got there so I looked around. Very impressed with what they’ve done with the place.”

“Yes. They’ve invested wisely.”

“Well, anyway, Jamie showed up with Taylor’s little boy, Henry. He’s a doll baby.”

Dad chuckles. “He looks like a mini-me of Jamie.”

Pang.I palm my chest. “He does,”I say my voice sounding thick. Dad pats my shoulder. He doesn’t miss a trick. If he only knew the half of it.

“Anyway, Mrs. B left with Henry, I think she was intentionally leaving us alone, then there we were. He’s annoying.”

“I’m assuming you were civil this time.”

“I’m always civil,” I complain.

He clears his throat teasingly. “I’ll leave it at that,” he says.

“Good call.” I grin. “Want to play a game of chess?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

We play for a while, then eat an early supper so we can turn in at a reasonable time for the big day tomorrow. The plan is to stuff the bird and get it in the oven by ten. I finish drying the last of the dishes and stifle a yawn. “I hate to admit it but I’m tired from doing nothing.”

“It’s from living in that pressure cooker. Your body is finally letting down. You need rest.”

“The fresh air probably has something to do with it too.”

“Take yourself to bed. I’ll be turning in after I let the dogs out.”

“I think I will. I just started the latest Grisham novel.” Chuckling I say, “I’ll probably get all of two pages read before the lamp goes off.” I give him a hug then head for the stairs. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you more. I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too,” I say on a yawn. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Kiddo.”

8

EVIE

The following morning, Dad and I are busy in the kitchen and Taylor Swift’s tuneShake it offcomes on. I dance up to Dad and bump my hips against his. “I love her!” I say, then continue singing along. I feel so light, it’s strange and unfamiliar.

“She’s quite the businesswoman.”

“I know, right? Plus, she has such a strong positive message.”

I crack up when Dad shakes his hips, and sings along… endearingly out of tune, “Play, play play.” He has Mom’s ruffled flowered apron wrapped around his waist and is wrist-deep mixing stuffings. At 61, my dad’s still a very handsome man with his broad shoulders and dark hair heavily streaked with silver. He still has the build of an athlete with a smidge more around the middle. We’re preparing our turkey and yes, we are in the ‘stuffing the bird’ camp. I wrap my arms around him from behind and give him a big squeeze.

---